Thursday, March 17, 2011

For the Anglophiles among us, redacted, apologized, and added upon

I know, I know, it's supposed to be Irish day, not British.
If you want to be Irishly inspired, go see my awesome St. Paddy's Day post from last year.
It's all the Irish I got!

A few days ago, I found this hilarious website.
I suggest you go waste a few minutes on it.
Just click on the "animations" button on the left sidebar and prepare yourself for merriment.
Or, hit the play button on this video and sample the goods.

I am embarrassed. 
After checking some of the animations, I'm not recommending you do the same.
Ignore the above red teeny tiny writing.

So, to save your tender sensibilities, here is one other video.  Being the proud owner of not one, but two, compost bins, I find this to be incomparably funny.

If you don't get some of the eclectic references, well then, you're just not a true Anglophile.
As for me, I've been singing My Wild Irish Rose and It's a Long Way to Tipperary with my elderly music therapy groups for a couple of weeks now and I'm  fresh out of enthusiasm for all things Irish.

Suddenly, I'm in the mood for a Mr. Whippy ice cream cone.
With a chocolate flake on top.


  1. I must not be a true Anglophile, cause I didn't get it all, but I enjoyed it - I love all things British!

  2. YAY all things British!

    And I'm Irish! Through and through. One can be magnanimous when on this side of the pond.

    Who is Mr. Whippy and what kind of ice cream cone does he make? And is a chocolate flake just like how it sounds? Like a shaving you'd put on top of a French Silk pie?

    I love that YouTube. I'm going to watch it again.

  3. Catchy tune and cute video. I didn't understand most of it, but it was amusing. Thanks for sharing.

  4. A serenading onion with huge creepy eyes, Wicked-Witch-of-the-West leggings and a sombrero lid is almost too much for me at this hour of the day. The accordion-playing carrot gave just the right amount of comic relief to keep me listening, although I had to stop watching the tongues of the compost bin.

    And the most eclectic term I heard was "gin" which I have no trouble understanding.

    My in-laws, all the years I've known them, have kept a sawed-off milk jug (I think they change it out every year or so) into which goes all the "compostable" refuse from kitchen goings-on. So not only do you have to look at rotting garbage every time you go near the sink, but the whole area has the faint reek of onion no matter what time of day you happen to be there. It's just not for me.

    Although I will say, years ago when TG grew tomatoes in the backyard, I did save the organic matter for him as long as he agreed to get it out of my sight posthaste. Good man. He hasn't had a vegetable garden for years and I can hardly get him to mow the lawn. You saw the condition of my landscaping. Pathetic.